Prena Poetry

I had a dream in a dream, where I woke up on an astoundingly cold floor. The bed beside me in linen silk was untouched, the house was empty as my breath echoed through and through.

My body ached bitterly in an unloving exhaustion and my eyes were blood shot swollen. I slowly wiped them with my fingers, they were cold and stained with dried up blood. My head reeled in cacophony as the smell of iron and bittersweet nostalgia pervaded over blades and wilted roses that were grimly tossed over the floor.

Then I ran to the bathroom after a while, half hallucinating and half dead in silence. The angelic white tiles on the walls were smeared with murals of blood and rust. I sat back, almost hollow, and caressed my face in confusion as I felt the newly formed scars over my skin.

My reflection on the broken mirror hung high on the wall was nothing more than a blurry tragedy. And in the same mirror, I noticed another person lying over the cold floor. It didn’t feel scary either when I walked up to her and noticed that she was some one familiar, someone I knew for a long long time but couldn’t recall exactly.

Then I remembered in my dream that I had murdered someone the previous night. But was I even guilty for that? I couldn’t answer, I didn’t want to know the answer or the consequences.

I woke up from that dream. And now I am wiping down the walls and tearing apart the notes in her pocket.  I am covering my face, I am covering my sins. And as I pack the body, like in a grimly cinematic dream, I can see a quite smile over her faint milky face. I remember her. She used a beautiful human with dreams, and wishes and ideas for a pharaonic future. She yearned to be loved, she yearned for the worthiness to hold up the world.

But the world that fed on the hunger for hate, war and betrayal could never learn to love a woman like her. So it asked me to do away with her in the end. And so I did. I obeyed the world. Now I don’t feel the pain or the smile or the likeliness of being something as close to a human.

But you should know that the person I killed is myself.

Now I’m just another hollow shell existing in an oblivion, looking out at the shore of my own comatose subconsciousness and yearning to finally wake up from this dream.

[ written back in 2018, Inspired by Christopher Nolan’s film Inception ]